


Take out the Gunman

by LuciferIsSatan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Destiel - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferIsSatan/pseuds/LuciferIsSatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing was an acquired taste, where the only monsters out there were people, and the Winchesters were no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take out the Gunman

**Author's Note:**

> Cas' is a bit OOC, but the fact that I based him off of Leviathan!Cas should make up for it.
> 
> I sorta Beta'd this myself, so all mistakes are mine-- If you see anything, feel free to call me out so I can fix it.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

Dean looked up at the woman behind the banking counter, her face was soft and kind, dark hair pulled up in a messy pony tail and smiling at him as he approached.

"Morning," he greeted, his tone was soft and kind, setting one arm on the counter and leaning forward. He grinned at her charmingly, glancing down at her name tag "Allison," He grinned, causing her to smile back sweetly, "That is a really- _really_ pretty name." Allison smiled, her smile reaching her eyes as she breathed out a _thank you_. Her eyes danced around his face, grinning before leaning against the counter with him.

Dean swiped a hand behind his back and below his hip, a silent and barely seen signal to his brother on the other side of the room. Sam, glanced at his brother a moment before looking away, stepping aside and sauntering over to the far side of the main room, away from the total crowd barely filling the bank.

"You can call me Allie, if you want." Dean gave her a look of interest, eyebrows lifting slightly and letting her know she had his full attention. She waved a hand a moment, almost idly, "Allison always sounded a bit too formal for my tastes."

"Well, I think it's a lovely name." Dean commented.

"Well aren't you sweet, sir." She replied.

"No, please," He insisted lightly, "Call me Dean."

Sam made his way over to the doors of the bank, eyes glancing around at the faces before closing it and subtly locking it. Blocking entry and exit, making his movements calm and collected as to not catch anyone's eye. It was swift and done effectively, as if practiced a million times over.

"Well, how can I help you today, Dean?" Allison asked, shifting on her feet a moment to find a better standing, and to look at her costumer more head on.

"Uhm," Dean pressed his lips together, looking to his side and gesturing to reach into his pocket. "I don't actually have an account at this bank." He slid a 50 dollar bill from his pocket, setting it on the counter and sliding it over to the accountant. "But, I was wondering if I could somehow get change for that."

Allison eyed it a moment, her tongue pressing to the back of her teeth before nodding. "I think," She paused a moment, "I think I can make an acceptation, just for you." Her hand reached out, and took the bill off of the counter, smiling all the same.

"Thanks." Dean replied, lips upturned the entire time and watching her with a steady eye. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, like a soft chuckle as she turned her attention to her register. Dean glanced behind him and towards the main double-door's that Sam was standing at, receiving a faint and slight nod. Dean nodded in return before turning his attention in front of him once again.

Allison turned away from her counter and moved to look at Dean as she had done before, the 50 still in her hands. "How do you want it, Dean?"

His eyebrows raised, shifting his head down as he let a soft sound escape his lips, something akin to a chuckle but not quite. "Ah, well," Biting his lower lip, "I'd have to take a rain check-" He grinned, not missing a beat before his face fell, "Hand me all your money."

Allison looked confused a moment before her eyes dropped to see the man holding a machine gun his hands, having slipped it up from seemingly nowhere, gripping it almost inconspicuously. Dean watched as her face fell and turn pale in a matter of moments.

He stepped away from the desk before cocking it, Sam watching and following in moments before they shot out a round into the ceiling. Screams and shocked gasps filled the air and this is what Dean lived for.

"Hands in the air!" Sam shouted, "I said hands in the air!" A guard looked as if he was attempting to be the hero, a deft hand reaching for his gun but Sam spotted him, forcing him to his knee's.

Dean looked over to see Allison, looking up at him as if she was pleading, trying to speak with him silently but Dean paid it little to no mind, the look he sent her was borderline on empathetic and disinterested and it seemed to do nothing but confused her.

"Your money's insured, so no hero's, okay?" Sam shouted, making sure his message was crystal clear for everyone to hear. One hand up in a peaceful motion, as if letting them know that they meant them no harm. Sam grabbed his weapon with one hand once again and motioned for Dean to start piling the people up.

It only took a few minutes before they had everyone shoved in a vault. The last person to go in was Allison and Dean shoved her in with a rough ' _get in there._ ' Everyone was hunched together, holding themselves and each other to make themselves as small as they could possibly be. Sam and Dean stood in the door way, looking at the group a moment before at each other. The people were shuddering, whimpering and trying to calm each other down.

"You ready?" Sam muttered, looking at the group of people once again.

Dean turned his attention to Allison, face expressionless towards her pleading one. "Yep."

On the monitor, everything that was going on was being caught on tape, their crimes in black and white and Dean made a point to look directly into it; a subtle moment passing before quickly, noticeably, winking.

Him and Sam adjusted their shoulders before lifting their guns, and that's when the real screaming started.

Dean and Sam Winchester were notorious across the United States, from mass shootings in Schools and Banks, to mere slaughters in Roadhouses and Bars. Anywhere they could get the camera on them was free game, because they wanted everyone to know their face. They'd never take more money than they needed, and robbing people seemed petty but when the time arouse they did what they could to survive. Living in the old 67' Chevy Impala, Dean and his little brother Sam traveled cross country to get their fill of excitement they just couldn't get from anything else.

They were known as the Winchesters, or some New's stations adapted "Hunters" which Sam thought really fit, but Dean thought it was actually the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

There was the Winchesters; and then there was the Gunman.

The Gunman was something else entirely, and playing on a whole new set of rules on a whole new game.

He was notorious for a great deal of things, but the number one thing he did was burn down churches. These typically were done at night, but sometimes he's been caught doing them in the early hour's of the morning when the churches were full and awake with life; reported to having set up a bomb or something equally devastating in the basement, getting far enough away as he detonates it. He went for the bigger booms, the more exciting kills and blow overs, and is almost always found in the recordings totting a gun he almost never uses.

Nobody really knew this guy's name, this being said because he's never been caught before. The police can't seem to ID him from what they've actually caught on their monitors before it goes to static. He wore a signature outfit for every one of his spree's that he goes on; A dirty trench coat covering a disheveled suit and a backwards tie. It always look like the guy just got off of work, with that rugged slept-in expression splayed out on him. The monitors didn't really give the guy much justice. Speaking of which, the monitors that he'd _actually_ been caught on, had always been in black and white; Not to mention that the guy looks directly at them each and every single time, much like Dean, but instead of staring at them, he smiles.

This creepy and rather unnerving smile that reaches his eyes, and it looks as if it's directed towards- well, _someone_ specific. Dean's studied this guy on a few occasions when him and Sam find a chance to get a motel room that had a TV in it; this guy was _all_ over the news. For months it was like this, his recordings of his killings before the tapes would have to cut off- It always turned to static, but Dean had a feeling that it had nothing to do with editing.

The New's didn't talk about it all that much, and when they did they always cut out the good parts, the parts that really made the Gunman notorious.

Eventually Dean had gotten so fed up with the broadcasters cutting out the interesting bits, he decided to do something about it.

So whenever him and Sam found a great place to hit up, he made a point to wave his gun in front of the camera, calling out the Gunman without saying a word before the slaughter began. A few weeks later while watching the news, there was a clip of the Gunman who did his normal routine of looking into the camera and smiling, but this time he waved his gun in the air as well.

It was a Winchester rifle.

It went on like this for months.

Dean would make a movement, need it be a wave or a wink, and the next time he saw the Gunman on the news just-- he was mimicking him. Acknowledging him, and if nothing else, downright _taunting_ him in some cases. They were communicating, and it felt a bit strange for Dean to see the Gunman making an effort to get his attention, whether it be the kind of gun he had, or something significantly different, it was always directed for Dean, and it didn't take long for the police and the broadcasting stations to pick up on it.

"-It certainly seem's like they're, dare I say, _flirting_ " The radio was a bit loud as he drove down the busy street's in Chicago, Sam fast asleep in the passenger seat. They hadn't been on any rampages for the past several weeks, the Winchesters had to stop for a while altogether because the police began gaining on their tail and they had at least three close calls. If they could keep their heads low for a few months, they'd be under the radar of the public for a good while until they finally struck down once again.

The Gunman seemed to take notice, because whenever Dean saw him, he was looking at the camera as if he was confused, or angry or something along those lines.

It didn't really matter to him, because he figured they both had this mutual understanding that when they meet, _if_ they ever do, they'd kill each other.

Survival of the fittest, whoever outmatches the other would have the whole world at their feet, they'd prove that they're stronger, that they're _better_. Sweet victory on their tongue, and Dean felt confident enough to be able to take him head on. The Gunman was a lot of things, but Dean didn't think it'd be that hard to take out the Gunman.

The Impala hummed as he pulled into the Motels parking lot, shaking his brother awake who jolted out of instinct, shooting Dean a look before roughly pushing his way out of the car. Dean pulled out his keys gingerly, shoving them in his pocket before stepping out of his car, slamming the door shut behind him.

They spent hours looking for places to hit up the next time they get a chance and when they no longer have to duck their heads out of the general public's view. They were miles away from their last hit up, and as of that moment they were too far from the South Dakota police department to get caught, as far as they're aware they were still in the state and not a few hundred miles away. They had some time to spare before the police finally caught on.

"Hey man," Sam snagged up his jacket, sliding the first sleeve on his arm. "I'm gonna head down to the bar, you want anything while I'm out?"

"Huh?" Dean upturned his head from the TV screen, glancing at his brother before waving him off. "Nah Sammy, you go ahead."

"Alright, I'll be back later."

"Hey!" Dean snapped out, calling out to his brother. "Don't you forget to send me a text this time-"

"I won't, I won't." Sam finished pulling on his sleeves, cutting the other off effectively. "I thought I could take it, but I won't forget this time."

"Damn straight you won't." His tone was stern, but Sam knew there wasn't any real venom behind his words. Dean turned back to the TV, waving his brother off. "Alright, you go have fun. I'll be here."

Sam merely nodded, adjusting the collar of his jacket, hand outstretched and Dean tossed him the keys without a second glance. Sam reached for the handle before pausing, turning to look at his brother. "You know," He began slowly, the only indication that Dean even heard him was the fact that he lifted an eyebrow. "You should come with, get some air for once."

"Why?" Dean pushed himself to his feet, sauntering over to the makeshift kitchen in their Motel room, reaching for the fridge and pulling out a cool beer. "There's plenty of air in here and-" he glanced at his brother, making an obvious face as he popped open the cap, "Plenty of beer."

"You know what I meant." Sam shot him his best bitch-face, leaning on one leg. "It's unhealthy to keep yourself stuffed in here and.. _obsessing_ over the Gunman. He hasn't come out to find you, and flirting during our raids hadn't gotten either one of you anywhere." Sam shrugged, "Maybe he's not that into you, Dean."

"Real funny," Dean rolled his eyes, sitting himself back on the edge of his bed to face the TV, placing his mostly untouched beer by his feet. "Now go, get laid, be productive, and if you really want me to be proud don't come back until the morning."

Sam laughed, patting the side of the door. "Alright man, I'll be back later."

Dean waved his goodbye, watching the flickering screen as the door finally opened and shut once again.

Hours went on by and the TV continued to flicker, coming in and out periodically until the new's finally came on. Most of it was on the weather, and after a while he was able to get it in long enough to talk about the real tragedies. A murder was on 14th Ave, there was a robbery a few miles away at a gas station. Nothing interesting for the most part, until he saw that familiar face flash onto his screen. Dean watched him a moment, before cursing under his breath, and without a moments thought he shut off the TV.

But the face was still there.

Dean jolted up from where he was sitting, body flinging around until he was facing the man standing directly behind him. His heart was hammering in his chest, blinking to make sure he wasn't imagining things before reaching blindly for his gun, however he couldn't find it.

"It's a shame, you shut it off when it was just getting good." His voice was low and deep, raspy in way that sent shivers up the killers spine, but tried to brush it off. The Gunman grinned, hands fingering his sleeves, titling his head at the man.

"How the _hell_ did you get in here?" Dean barked, eyes scanning over the room for some sort of weapon but he couldn't seem to find one, "And how the hell did you find me?"

"The Impala out front?" The Gunman nearly laughed, "Real inconspicuous." He was a hell of a lot creepier in person, in a distinctive and vaguely attractive way. "I was in the neighborhood." His voice lifted considerably, conversationally, stepping away from where he was standing and moving around, almost as if he was circling the Winchester. "I noticed you were here, and I thought ' _Why not give an old friend a happy hello_ '?"

"Yeah good to see you too, buddy." Dean sneered sarcastically, "Now you mind beating it? I've got the cops on my tail-"

"And you don't want them catching wind of little ol' me?" The Gunman chuckled, his grin seeming to twist. "Oh stop it you, you're making me all red."

"I'm about to _paint_ the walls red if you don't get the hell out of here." Dean snapped, "The hell are you thinkin' man? If I get tracked down and _your_ here?"

"Oh, wouldn't you just hate for the world to find out about us?" The Gunman stepped forward abruptly, but Dean held his ground. The Gunman was tinier than he was, he could take him on. No sweat. "I would hate for them to paint our _love_ out in bold letters, now wouldn't you?"

Dean watched him, seeing the way his neck snapped from one direction to the next. It was borderline on _morbid_ how he moved; The guy was a psychopath, and Dean had this gnawing feeling that the Gunman was a hell of a lot worse than he was. They kept out all those juicy details from the news, they kept out a great fuckin' deal this guy did. There was the security tapes, and the brushed up and painted versions of what the Gunman was capable of, but never what he does.

"We could paint the street's together, you and I." The Gunman continued, his filthy trench coat swaying slightly around his legs and Dean noticed how he seemed to be shifting from foot to foot, as if he couldn't sit still. "If we were to join up, just imagine how much _fun-_ " The Gunman flicked the word so roughly off his tongue, "we could have."

"Whoa there, slow down there buddy, buy me a drink first." Dean raised a brow at the guy, "And I'm not gonna jump in and ride of into the sunset with you. This isn't going to be a case of Bonnie and Clyde, you got that? Besides, I've already got my partner in crime."

"You mean the moose?" The Gunman chuckled, "You two have it all cut out, don't you?"

"Uh huh, and we don't need the Gunman stirring up the pot any more than it already is." Dean drawled out, eyebrows furrowing together as his lips pressed into a thin line. "We got this far in the game without your help, cupcake."

The Gunman tsked, sauntering forward until they were only a few feet apart. "So formal Dean." The Gunman shook his head before reaching out his hand, his tongue darted out from between his lips and across his lower lip. "The name's Castiel."

"Castiel?" No wonder nobody could track him down with a name like that. His eyes dropped down to the hand but didn't take it, however it didn't put the Gunman- or _Castiel_ off as it probably should have.

"I didn't come here to kill you, if that's what you're so worried about." He smiled, and Dean was becoming increasingly aware of how close they were. Seeing him so up close and personal, his eyes flickering over the little flaws that the monitors never showed; Castiel had bags under his eyes, looking tired and running on maybe an hour of sleep, maybe not even that. His face was shadowed over, but that's not what caught the Hunter's eye; no, what _caught_ Dean's eyes were just how _blue_ Cas's were.

Like Jesus, you could drown in those things. Bright and vibrant, this bold and innocent looking blue and just about everything Castiel wasn't. However, if Dean had to make a comparison, he'd say they're just as damn intense as the man shifting in front of him.

"Doesn't worry me." Dean muttered back, "I could take you on."

"But do you want to?" Castiel asked, and he was doing that thing again, where he was shifting on his feet, back and forth, back and forth, and Dean didn't get why he couldn't stand still.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean growled, holding his ground no matter how close Castiel moved on him, face's feet and then inches apart in moments, personal space seeming to have no significance to this man whatsoever.

"Are you really that blind?" Castiel muttered, and Dean could feel the others hot breath rolling and brushing across his face. "C'mon big boy," He breathed, "You can't tell me you didn't see it."

"See what?" Dean questioned roughly, and for a split second lost himself when he suddenly felt two warm chapped lips pressing against his own. His brain didn't register the feeling until his moter-skills finally kicked in, hands gripping the Gunman's waist and slamming him against the wall behind him, their lips breaking apart.

Castiel's hair flung even more out of place, his back pressed against the wall and Dean noticed just how- _small_ he looked. But in the same sense he didn't feel all that small, his arms feeling strong as they brushed against his, staring deeply into the deep blue eyes, as if wanted to scream at him, wanting to tear him a new one but all he seemed to register himself doing was pressing his body against the Gunman's before his lips attacked the serial killers.

Their mouths moved roughly against one another, teeth against teeth and tongue as the other's mouth nearly devoured the other almost desperately. Dean forced a knee between the Gunman's legs, although Cas didn't have any sort of resistance against him, spreading them accordingly; hips grinding against the others as hands moved over clothed clad bodies.

Dean's hands reached up and tugged the Gunman's trench-coat off of his shoulders roughly, Cas helping him tug off the article of clothing, loosening his tie; Dean damn near tore off his buttoned up shirt. Cas pushed the Winchester off of him, Dean fumbling back a moment, confused until he felt Castiel's hands grip his arms and pushed him towards the bed; The backs of Dean's knee's touching the edge of the Motel bed and Cas pushed him until his back made contact with the mattress.

Castiel was on him in moments, sliding onto the length of the Winchester, mouth connecting once again as they began to tear more and more clothes off of their bodies. Deft fingers touching and sliding, running over jeans and buttons until each one was undone, sliding everything off and tossing them to some direction of the room they couldn't care less to trace.

Castiel was the first one to become bare, Dean still sporting his boxers. Cas' gasped rather audibly when Dean's fingers deftly wrapped around his aching length, running along it a moment before releasing. His hands snapped to the Gunman's hips, quickly flipping their positions, Castiel's head making contact with the motel pillow, his hair falling out in all different directions. Face flushed and no longer seeming to sport that twisted grin that Dean had seen him wearing so flawlessly countless times.

Dean was straining in his boxers, pushing them down and off in a matter of seconds before throwing them elsewhere. Castiel's eyes racked Dean's body when he was finally in full view, humming in appreciation as he allowed his knee's to fall apart.

"You're full of surprises big boy," Cas hummed.

"Yeah?" Dean breathed, hands roaming over the Gunman's taut surprisingly muscular skin. Castiel moaned, head falling back against the pillow as he pressed into the Winchesters touch. "Well, you're about to be full of a few more."

"Is that a promise?" Castiel mused, but was cut off when a strong hand wrapped around him once again.

Dean's hands wrapped around him tightly, palm rubbing against the sensitive skin, teasing, taunting, making up for all those times the Gunman did the exact same thing to his brother and him over the news. He thought about how easy it would be to just take him out now, how easy it would be to take out the Gunman as he's withering underneath him, unexpecting of an attack.

However, a deep moan cut away those thoughts. No, he was going to enjoy this.

They could kill each other, and Dean figured that one day they would, but for now, they weren't going to.

Dean moved so that he was resting between the Gunman's legs, which spread to accommodate his size. Castiel's legs wrapped around the Hunter's hips, holding him as the Winchester pressed, rubbing against him. Rutting and grinding their bodies together, Dean's face pressed against the Gunman's neck as he sucked and licked the skin there, feeling all this tension he felt building up over the course of a year seem to dissipate with ever little sound the Gunman made.

It was strange, because for the longest time the Gunman was just a face on a screen, so out of reach. He was a story on a radio, and the monster parents warned their children about. He was portrayed as a creature, a monster, but here was he was, feeling warm and alive under his skin; moaning and making sounds like a human would. Feeling human, sounding human; but lacking all of which that ripped away his humanity.

Spitting on his hand for lubrication, he reached his hand downward until his fingers brushed against the ring of muscles; however Cas swatted his hand away, much to the Winchesters confusion.

" _Fuck me_." Castiel breathed, sounding breathless to his ears. " _Please, just fuck me._ "

Dean groaned at the sound, wrapping his hand around his arousal to use the lubrication on himself, trying to coat himself as much as he could until he finally got into position. His hands gripped tightly at the Gunman's hips, the tip of his arousal brushing against the tight ring of muscle, a deep throaty moan escaped both of their lips as he finally, slowly, pushed inside.

Cas gripped at his shoulder blades, his blunt fingernails digging into his skin. Dean moaned out, the sound muffled against the Gunman's neck as he finally pushed completely to the hilt. _Fuck_ he was tight.

Castiel was panting, his breathing rough and Dean only barely made out the demand that escaped the Gunman's lips. " _Move._ "

Dean pulled his hips back, and without any warning slammed them back against the Gunman's hips, moaning out in unison before he finally began picking it up to a steady pace. Dean growled against Castiel's skin, fingers digging against his hips, rocking their bodies together.

Their bodies slid against one another, fitting perfectly and imperfectly together as they moved, sweat-slicked skin against sweat-slicked skin. Castiel ground his hips downward, swaying them in small circular motions that drove the Winchester _wild_. Hips moving and grinding, skin flushed and mouths finally connecting in the middle once again.

Their tongues danced, Cas' nipping Dean's lower lip as they moved, pushing and pulling; his hand slipping between their bodies to grasp his own arousal. His hand rubbed and moved in time with Dean's thrusts, feeling as if he was pushing deeper and deeper into the other man, his breath coming in short bursts, panting and breathing roughly through his nose.

" _Harder-_ " Castiel choked out, and Dean was more than happy to oblige. In slower rougher thrust's, shallow at first before gaining a momentum, seeming to hit some sweet spot inside the Gunman as he cried out, the noise was gasping and quite honestly caught the Winchester off guard. It sounded nothing like Dean would expect it to. It was deeper but weak, shattered in a way that nearly tipped the Winchester over the edge when he heard it, sending chills shooting up and down the hunters spine.

" _Fuck- Cas-_ " Dean gasped, feeling the other tighten around him. He had no idea how long they were like this, how long their limbs were entangled, or how long he'd been pile-driving into him, until he heard Castiel cry out again, a hotness splashing over their stomachs and everything around him tighten impossibly.

Crying out, the sound muffled against the Gunman's neck, riding out the waves of his orgasm. Their bodies stilling, breathing out and trying to catch their breath.

Collapsed, Dean's head resting against Castiel's chest he could hear him sigh, the fingers that were digging into his back had moved their way up to his hair, brushing though it almost lazily.

Yeah, they were going to kill each other one day, but today just wan't that day. And feeling Castiel's lips press against his hair line, he imagined it wouldn't be for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post--] Whenever I see this post [a gif-set that had Leviathan Cas' looking at the Camera, and Leviathan Dean doing the same.] all I think of is an AU where both of them are serial killers, and they’ve never met, but because they’re both on the news so often they know about each other and communicate through these security tapes. Their goals may be to kill each other but when they finally come face to face it doesn’t work like that at all..


End file.
